


Stupefy

by IreneClaire



Series: Various Notions Collection [18]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bromance, Danny Whump, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Danny, Hurt Danny "Danno" Williams, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Danny "Danno" Williams, No Plot/Plotless, Protective Steve McGarrett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneClaire/pseuds/IreneClaire
Summary: Eyes tearing from the strain, he waited then, stupefied when a big dark truck virtually appeared in front of him. With nowhere to go, he stood where he'd originally rocked to a halt. The helicopter's rotors beating overhead, the truck now sliding to a gravel spewing stop just feet from his body.He waited for the bullets to fly or for the men to descend upon him with cat-calls and fists.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Notes: Another Word of the Day Self Challenge! And .... got nuthin' else ... liked the word and not much plot. Much bromance and caring though ...

 

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

**Word of the Day: Stupefy -** _to put into a state of little or no sensibility; benumb the faculties of; put into a stupor. to stun, as with a narcotic, a shock, or a strong emotion. to overwhelm with amazement; astound; astonish._

 

He trudged down the sandy lane, limping and disheveled. The beach and the blue of the Pacific Ocean were behind him; the city, his ultimate destination, was far ahead.

He coughed as he walked, tasting dried blood on his lips. His throat was bone-dry and he wanted nothing more than to sit down in the shade. However, he didn't have time to do anything but continually put distance between himself and the small enclave where he'd been secreted. With his eyes cast mostly downwards as he squinted against the glare of the sun, he was determined to simply put one foot squarely in front of the other. Feet that were bare and steadily growing more sensitive to the uneven roughness of the hot, pebbly path and doing his very best to ignore the pain from the ankle he'd twisted somewhere along the way.

A few minutes later, he stopped though. He had to stop, wavering unsteadily, his feet throbbing in time to the ache in his head. He glanced over his shoulder and lost his balance, nearly falling to his knees. There was no one behind him though. No one and nothing but that empty, lonely path and the rocky beach.

Gulls called out overhead and he blinked tiredly, finally trusting that he wasn't being followed by the men who'd used him as cover for their escape.

Perhaps they just didn't care about him anymore because they had gotten their way. They'd gotten their money and the bulk of their illicit arms. And even though he was a cop and offered them some modicum of early protection, for all intents and purposes, they just hadn't needed him anymore. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his escape had been far too easy. He'd been allowed to leave.

 _Maybe_.

He doubted everything. He heaved in a broken breath of hot air and coughed heavily, his throat feeling as if he'd swallowed glass. He stared over his shoulder again, wondering if he was really being toyed with. Maybe his freedom was part of some terrible game. Letting him go only to catch him again … to toy with him … like stray cats with a bedraggled, worn-down mouse.

But no, that didn't make sense. It wasn't their way. He was free more likely because they didn't care about him at all; they'd seen their next window of opportunity to simply get away free and clear. They had taken it much like he had done the same in order to be free and clear of them.

No matter the reason, he needed to keep going. He might have escaped, but he wasn't at all convinced he'd make it home. Turning, he forced his body forward again, swaying with every step. He used his ruined shirt sleeve to swipe at the grimy volume of sweat streaming down his face. It would be nearly impossible to even identify the true color of that once perfectly dry-cleaned and pressed shirt. Now, parts of it were in tatters. The entirety of it stained from sweat or blood or just plain dirt. Only the slender hem was tucked in over his right hip. The rest of the material hung out unevenly around his waist from where it had once been neatly folded into his slacks.

_Had that been yesterday? The day before … or, had it been longer?_

He didn't know. He didn't care. He kept limping along, his arms falling limply to his sides. Head down, eyes squinting against the sun. The only sound other than those gulls, was the off-kilter whine of his own lungs as he argued breathing in the stifling hot air. Breathing hurt as much as walking. It was all too much and he wanted to stop. He _did_ with every fiber of his being.

 _No._ He mouthed in anger at himself. But his face was creased in pain now, every step a torturous trial. He shook his head weakly, his eyes barely open. The white path had turned into an uneven grayish-black swath of old road. Littered with broken bits of macadam, rocks and even pot holes, he had more work in staying true to his goal. Doggedly he fought to keep going until his limp became an ungainly stumble. He winced and gasped at each agonizing step, the pain from his ankle now extending up into his calf muscle.

The sound of an engine reached his ears, echoing through the otherwise stillness of his remote exile, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Truck or helicopter … maybe both. Whatever it was, it was close and completely out of the norm. The sound merged with another engine. The uneven _thud thud thud_ of tires on a dirt road and he winced helplessly.

This was a game then. He'd been allowed to escape as part of some sick game.

He whined under his breath because he had nowhere to go. Even if he did, he lacked the wherewithal to do it. Resigned to what was going to happen, he looked from where he'd come and … saw nothing. But then his eyes were drawn inconceivably skywards. The helicopter was just overhead, sending plumes of heated air downwards and he winced, blinded by the severity of the glare.

In front of him, he heard it more clearly now, too. Not only the turn of big wheels, but the whine of a vehicle's engine; strong, powerful and thrumming towards him at a high rate of speed. Eyes tearing from the strain, he waited then, stupefied when a big dark truck virtually appeared in front of him. With nowhere to go, he stood where he'd originally rocked to a halt. The helicopter's rotors beating overhead, the truck now sliding to a gravel spewing stop just feet from his body.

He waited for the bullets to fly or for the men to descend upon him with cat-calls and fists.

Instead, his name was shouted out by a voice he thought he might never hear again.

"Danny! _Danny_!"

The booted footsteps stopped inches from where he stood swaying, but he was afraid to look. It couldn't be real. In fact, he closed his eyes, his expression one of disbelief. It _wasn't_ real.

 _Heatstroke? Yeah._ That seemed more likely. He wavered more, his knees beginning to buckle. It was hot, too hot, and he was done in if he had to fight. And he had nothing left.

"Do it," he whispered hopelessly as he waited for that one bullet to find his head. It would be more merciful if they just did it quickly.

"Danny, no … hey. We found you … we found you. Thank, God," Steve whispered over and over as his strong hands gripped his biceps and eased him gently down to the hot ground where he was buffered against Steve's body.

"Drink. Slow. Easy … slow, Danny." The commands were soft in his ear as a water bottle was held to his lips. He kept his eyes closed as he was granted slow, steady sips, the hum of Steve's voice now a constant in his ear. Some words were for him; others were orders or updates to the other members of the search party.

Danny zoned out then, ignoring questions which might have been aimed his way. Overwhelmed and exhausted, he only caught bits and pieces of what Steve was saying. Danny lay there limply up against Steve as he was checked from stem to stern for injuries, tutted about and cared for. Finally believing that Steve was truly there.

_So, what did the words really matter then?_

"Needed four-wheel drive to get back here … chopper can't land." Steve was prattling on and Danny just listened, vaguely understanding that he'd have to deal with a rocky and long ride back to any main road. Sensing then, that he might never have made it out alone no matter how hard he might have tried.

Eyes closed, Danny didn't feel the heat anymore. He only felt Steve hauling him to his feet, virtually carrying him the short distance to the big Silverado where he was eased into the back seat. He was plied gently with more water; his most obvious wounds quickly and efficiently cared for. Eyes closed, Danny let himself sink further down into a buffer of safety and peace while his best friend made sure he was safe and secure. The truck was cool and the sun no longer an enemy in the sky trying to beat him into the rocky dirt of the Hawaiian path.

_He was going home._

"How're you doing?" Steve whispered. "Hang on me for me, okay?" Danny only roused from his stupor when he heard the worry in Steve's voice. When he felt Steve's hand on his forehead, then his cheek. He forced his eyes open, squinting now only from exhaustion and a desperate want to focus.

"Steve?" Danny pushed out wearily. "Hey …f-found me?" He knew he didn't make sense, but had to say something. Anything to ease the dark worry being expressed in his friend's eyes.

"Yeah, of course I did. Never stopped looking. Not once," Steve whispered earnestly. His eyes glistened darkly in the cabin of the truck. "You're going to be fine … good as new. Let's go home now, Danno, _huh_?"

Danny nodded once, his eyes closing. He'd learn about what happened later; he would catch up on everything later. Much later.

"Yeah," he murmured softly as he let the deep thrum of the Silverado's strong engine resonate soothingly through his body. He rocked bonelessly in time to the truck's movement as Steve turned on the trail to head out the way he'd come in to find Danny.

To take him ... _home_.

_**~ to be continued. ~** _


	2. Stupefy - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: originally, a 2nd part wasn't in the books. Hope this pleases!

**H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O* H5O**

 

 **Word of the Day: Stupefy** \- to put into a state of little or no sensibility; benumb the faculties of; put into a stupor. to stun, as with a narcotic, a shock, or a strong emotion. to overwhelm with amazement; astound; astonish.

 

**Part 2:**

Steve stood at the foot of Danny's hospital bed, only half listening to what the doctor was saying while he watched Danny sleep. He was running on fumes after three intense days of failed negotiations against a volley of threats which would be disastrous for his partner should any come to fruition. Fighting against the Governor's stance that they'd not entertain any more of the faction's demands in case a precedent might be set. And of all things, butting heads with the police commissioner who insisted that the department was clean ... which Steve now knew. But at the time … he mentally paused there because he'd been wrong and making excuses now was unfair.

Still, at the time, he certainly had thought otherwise. Ruefully, Steve registered that he'd eventually need to apologize for his behavior. Profusely in fact. His attitude had been far from stellar, never mind the words he'd used and he wrinkled his nose at the memory.

Three days of sheer hell both inside and outside of his ranks still had him at wits end though. Even with Danny now _home_ , Steve was still angry. Arguing, negotiating, fighting a barrage of counter-arguments to no logical end to such an extent, that not one of them thought they'd ever see Danny again. And if they did, only then in a body bag. A lot of it never needed to have happened.

"What? Sorry," Steve mumbled towards the doctor. He had to force himself to focus. The doctor had noisily shifted his stance, dragged his shoes on the linoleum while he fluttered his long white coat. He'd then cleared his throat quite loudly. Evidently he was wondering if Steve was hearing anything he was saying and growing rather perturbed about his lack of attention. He'd be right. Steve grimaced because he hadn't heard a blessed thing at all.

"Yeah, yeah, Doc ... sorry," Steve replied as he offered the man a rather terrible attempt at an apologetic smile. He was way off his game. He should be more polite here. Especially here. However, he just couldn't quite get past seeing Danny stumbling, like a barefooted scarecrow, towards his truck on that hot lonely trail. Disheveled, exhausted and covered in grime, Danny had been nearly unrecognizable. So yeah, Steve was still coping with having found him whole and alive.

Steve shook his head, unintentionally zoning out on the doctor once again. He could still see Danny in his mind's eye. He was still replaying that anonymous phone call inside his head. A phone call presumably from one of the three men as a diversion to their departure from the Island. He'd gone 'alone' as demanded but Steve hadn't believed any of it. He'd had to follow up on it though. If nothing more, it was a final act of his own desperation. Danny would have been pleased, at least. Backup was overhead and on the main road.

But the location was wrong. The reasoning ... none given. All along, he'd suspected that this final demand might not have been exactly up to par. Too much time had gone by. Steve sensed that the men had been long gone by the time the call had even been placed and he was sure that he was being sent on a wild goose chase. If Danny had been there, he certainly wouldn't be there anymore. And he'd been partially right because there was no one at the abandoned World War II bunker. No one and nothing except a few discarded water bottles and a suspicious looking room which might have been used to cage a man.

Like Danny. Steve remembered standing there. Desolate and alone. He remembered seeing Danny's cuffs hanging by one link which had been closed around a high metal pipe. The link where Danny's wrist had once been attached, hung freely open. It wasn't even swinging anymore. It just hung there. Dead. Silent. Danny had been there and now he was ... gone. Steve's hopes had shattered in that moment until he'd gotten the excited call from the HPD team in the helicopter.

_"Commander! We've got eyes on a person of interest ... could be Detective Williams ... hard to tell. Guy looks to be in bad shape. Walking ... erratically. Almost 10 klicks inland from your current location ..."_

That's all it had taken. Steve had roared out of there in a cloud of dust. _It was Danny._ He knew it with every fiber of his being. He'd followed the directions provided by that sky-high team, back-tracking and criss-crossing down a confusing grid of what Danny would have called goat paths. It had taken him nearly forty-five additional minutes to get to that person of interest, knowing the entire time that it would be his partner.

When he got there though, slowing on that narrow curve just in time, he was still stunned by the sight in front of him, and it was obvious by his non-reaction, that Danny hadn't expected to see him at all. He'd expected anyone except for Steve and slouch shouldered, completely done in, he was far too resigned to what might happen next.

 _"Danny!"_ Steve had shouted out to him and reached Danny's side just as he'd been on the verge of collapse, knees wobbling, upper body swaying in the heat of the late afternoon sun. He hadn't even bothered to look up. His first faintly whispered words cut Steve to the quick and he'd instantly understood what Danny had meant, too.

 _"Do it."_ Lost, forlorn. Resolved to fate because he was simply that damned exhausted and beaten down. _"Do it"._

"No," Steve muttered spontaneously under his breath, not even hearing the doctor's confused query. That one memory was staying damned strong in his head and he stared numbly at Danny while he slept now.

 _Safe. Peaceful._ A sleep that would bring healing.

But Steve was on edge; his mind fidgety as it played tricks on him. He couldn't stop thinking. Danny had only said a few words since Steve had found him. He'd hardly been aware of anything at all. Even after he'd gotten Danny into his truck Steve had only managed to get a one or two mouthfuls of water down his throat. Danny had been unable to hold the water bottle. He'd finally recognized Steve but had then been incapable of responding to any of his questions. Steve had taken care of the injuries he could see and then radio'd his intentions to meet his team on the main road. He wanted an ambulance waiting.

Heart in his mouth, Steve had focused on driving them out of that remote location, glancing in the back seat after negotiating every axle-breaking pothole to make sure his partner was still there. Still breathing ... still alive. But when pestering Danny with questions and begging for replies were to no avail, his plans had changed. Spurred on by fear, Steve had driven to the nearest passable spot where the chopper could land.

That decision to transfer him from the truck to the helicopter most likely had saved Danny's life.

Nothing had gone right for Steve in three very long days and he'd been determined to correct each and ever single one of those setbacks. Because, from the time Danny had stopped on the way to work to lend a hand at a simple fender bender of a car accident, it had all gone to hell in a handbasket.

First, the woman, whose car had been gently rear-ended at a stop sign, couldn't tell him a blessed thing about the men, nor their large vehicle which had bumped her from behind. The truck was _"… a big, dark SUV." And the occupants? Nothing at all about the three men " … who'd forced the cop into their truck after asking him to choose ... between me … and him"._

Steve hadn't known what to do with that information. It still boggled his mind that the woman had been of no help whatsoever. When at his nastiest, he even wondered if the woman had managed to count to three correctly.

Secondly, none of it made sense. At the time, there had been no known 'why' of it ... zero understanding of what had happened. Only the woman's distraught account of what Danny had done. How he'd brazenly volunteered himself to go alone with them. She'd been sobbing openly about him and how " _... He just stepped in front of me ... insisted that they take him ... that by taking him, they'd have more … more leverage. That was the word he used - yes, he said leverage. So ... so they did!"_

Steve's snit had started growing way back then yet. The woman's sobbing hadn't made him empathetic at all. Even now he frowned at the memory as he stared at Danny's lax face, the bruises blending with the uneven sunburn across his cheeks. Of course, Danny would have done something like that. Steve could have easily imagined hearing Danny's words inside his own head. He hadn't needed a sobbing woman to recite them. What he'd needed at the time was detailed descriptions of the men, their names (and hell, he'd take just a first name to get started), a hint at a license plate number, their general direction of travel. Anything more than what he'd been given!

But at the time, he'd had nothing to go on. They'd all been baffled as to why these men had taken Danny because the accident had really been just that. An accident. They hadn't set a trap for Danny. They hadn't been lying in wait just for him … or for some other cop to just show up. The driver of the truck truly hadn't been paying attention. They hadn't intended to rear end the woman's car or have a plainclothes detective show up as a good Samaritan to help.

None of that had been intentional and yet … Danny had been taken. Steve learned hours later, that these men had taken that minor accident and spun it into one hell of an opportunity.

What Steve learned far too late, was that the men were part of a small and rather disjointed weapons cartel. They'd arrived on the Island that very morning for a meet and greet with local members of the Yakuza to setup a lucrative weapons exchange. Their first step in what they'd hoped to be a long-term relationship in a new market.

All of this intel had come after the fact though.

 _After_ , the arms exchange had been coordinated and the Yakuza had left the meet.

 _After_ , that suspicious activity had been called in by an anonymous citizen and only _after_ , two members of the visiting cartel had been hemmed in by HPD.

 _After_ , a negotiator had been called in to help with what had become a hostage situation.

Only then, far too late, had Steve learned the truth and that almost seemed by accident. Forced to rally the team, gear up en masse despite Danny being missing, it was there that he'd been made aware of the inherent value of the faction's single hostage.

Steve had been mortified when one man had so nonchalantly tossed him Danny's badge. _Furious_ when the lead HPD officer and the assigned negotiator were as ignorant as hell about how to correctly defuse the situation. With Danny's life in the balance, Steve had taken over the proceedings at that point, demanding and receiving proof of life ... via a burner cell phone device. He'd been stupefied by that knowledge.

He wasn't there? All that _talking_ \- all of that lost time _negotiating_ \- and _Danny hadn't even been there?_

The subsequent demands were predictable: the faction wanted their two men back and then safe egress in exchange for the Five-0 detective. Something Steve was ready to do until he was put in a bind because Danny wasn't physically nearby. He had already been moved to some private enclave on the opposite side of the Island. So, he had one clear choice at that point: let the two men go and come up with a plan B before they could get off the Island and _not_ make good on their black promise to release their hostage.

Backed into a corner, he'd done just that, too. But there had been no Plan B or even a C; he'd been thwarted at every turn. Their new Yakuza business partners were keen on their well-being and the three men quite capable besides. With each lost hour spelling eventual disaster, Steve's walls had begun to cave in around him.

The Governor was irate for the horrific handling of the situation; the police commissioner at war with Five-0 for the lay of blame. With no options left, Steve had gone to the street, pulling out every favor ever owed to them. He'd gotten nowhere and hopes were slowly scattering to the wind. But then, against all those terrible odds, some miracle had occurred: they'd gotten a phone call. An anonymous tip.

"No more," Steve muttered out loud. He angrily slapped the footboard to Danny's hospital bed, his eyes still focused on Danny's face as he relived those frustrating moments. "No more talking ... no more damned lies."

"Excuse me?" Commander?" The doctor's annoyed tone finally seeped through Steve's distracted thoughts. "What did you say? Maybe we should discuss Detective Williams' recovery later. Is that what you want?"

"What? No." Steve blinked stupidly at the man before asking the one and only question that mattered. "Is he going to be all right?"

The doctor, and God help him, Steve just couldn't remember the man's name, seemed confused. But then he nodded, his resultant sigh fraught with resignation.

"Yes, Commander," the doctor said much more simply. "Exhaustion, dehydration, various cuts and bruises … the fractured ankle is the worst of it. He needs rest and a decent meal, but Detective Williams is gong to be fine."

"Ankle? What?" Steve knew that he sounded ridiculous, yet he couldn't help himself. "Fractured? He was walking on it ... I mean, yeah, I noticed something was wrong and he was favoring it, but ... fractured? Thought maybe only sprained."

"Not sprained," the doctor said, his wry tone indicating that he'd repeated that particular fact more than once before. "Yes, I'm sure it was very painful, but he could manage walking. When the fracture happened ... and I'm sure the Detective can tell us how it happened when he finally wakes ... it was most likely incurred from a severe twisting motion." The doctor mimicked that counter twisting motion with both his hands to demonstrate and Steve noticeably blanched.

"So, his foot twisted as such and the contraction of his tendon pulled his foot in one direction. But the way it was twisted, it actually pulls the foot in the opposite direction and a piece of the tendon tore, taking a small part of bone with it. And that ... _that_ is where the fracture occurred. Painful ... but straight forward enough. He'll need rest, ice and possibly a boot for stability; but he'll be fine in a few weeks."

"Okay," Steve replied, stupefied and his brain still not quite on board with what he'd been told. Until one key thing sank in. _Everything was okay._ Danny was back and going to be fine. A bit worse for wear, but they had Danny back and all Steve wanted to do was watch him sleep.

"Commander, if I may," the doctor noted. "When is the last time you got off your feet?"

Dumbfounded, Steve continued staring but this time at the doctor. It was as if he was seeing the man for the very first time. "What? Why?"

"Because you look the way I feel." Danny's tired voice resonated up from the bed and Steve's head swiveled back towards Danny with a snap. "You look like crap ... why are you staring at me? Can't you let a man sleep?"

"You're awake,' Steve said. A smile slowly crept across his face.

"Yeah, I think so ... didn't hurt this bad before," Danny breathed out softly. . "... when I was _sleeping_. Why're you here, _huh_? You look awful, Steve. Go home."

Steve grinned at the light hearted snark. He looked at the doctor and then pointed dramatically towards Danny. "He's awake!"

"Yes, so I see," the doctor drawled. He made a sniffing sound, aggrieved, and then shook his head before looking at his patient. "How do you feel Detective?"

"Getting hit by a truck wouldn't hurt this much," Danny pouted. But then he yawned, blinking wildly, fighting his eyes which insisted on closing. Finally, with supreme effort, Danny compromised by squinting with one eye up at Steve.

"You okay?" Steve asked in all seriousness. Suddenly, even with Danny now looking directly at him, he didn't feel like smiling anymore. Steve had been run through the mill and back again, and a very large part of him was still refusing to believe that things were all right. That Danny was going to be fine.

"Really? _Really_ ... okay?"

"Yeah." Danny nodded, his lips pursed thinly as he studied Steve's face with as fierce of an intensity as he could muster. His voice fell to a whisper and he nodded again, almost reassuringly as if he'd seen something of importance in Steve's eyes.

"Yeah ... really. I mean it. Thanks, Steve."

One side of Steve's mouth quirked back upwards again. He opened his mouth and then didn't know what he should say. That simple sentiment carried a great amount of weight. It countered the soul-crushing burden that Steve had been carrying on his own shoulders for three very long days and he visibly deflated ... in relief.

"Go home," Danny murmured softly. "M'fine. Really." Steve watched as his friend's eyes started to slide shut again. They wouldn't be opening for a very long time. Danny was going to be out for the count for good ... and this time, it felt very, very right.

Heaving in a great lungful of air, Steve let out a long, cleansing sigh. He smiled as he stood to his full height, just watching Danny sleep before whispering some heart-felt words of his own.

"You're welcome, Danno."

_**~ End ~** _


End file.
